A Moment of Thought
by EncryptedOS
Summary: On the trip back to his ship, the Mandalorian silently reflects on a few recently developing thoughts, and they soon stray in the widow's—Omera's—direction. Can he sort through his feeling of mutual respect and admiration and acknowledge the truth behind these strange feelings?


His silent, skilled hand rubbed the rag up and down the length of the barrel of his Amban rifle. His means of defense was no good to him dirty; and as he was quickly realizing, a bored infant wasn't much good to him either.

"Hey, cut that out." He scolded in the usual manner, pulling his cape free from the baby's open mouth. "It's got enough holes in it as it is. Doesn't need another." He inspected the cape, laying it aside from the tot's reach. It was becoming apparent that the longer he kept the child in his care, the more it wanted to test his limits, which was ironic, because he found that he was, in many instances, testing the child's.

The baby cooed, cocking his head to the side, large ears rising and falling. The man slumped his shoulders, huffing a sigh as he raised the child into his hands and sat it firmly on his lap, earning him a soft squeal. He assured he was rested securely, then he carefully handed the infant the rag and enfolded its hand into his own while the other gripped the weapon securly, making slow, sequential movements along the bottom length of the rifle in a rubbing motion. The child's eyes widened as it watched the rag clean the barrel of the rifle, acknowledging the dirt as it was wiped away into the folds of the rag. It cooed softly, sinking into the entertainment the small action brought, eventually picking up the momentum and doing the job without the Mandalorian's aid. The man silently watched the child soak in the simple action, thoughtful, guiding his tiny hand whenever it went astray.

Feeling as if the child was distracted, he stole a glance to the side, soaking in the view of the various species of lush spruce-like trees that passed by. This planet was nothing if not breathtaking and vigorous. It was perfect for those who sought a quiet, peaceful life free from the chaos of the past. He couldn't help but think that certain people were willing to disrupt the veil of peace that embraced this planet. As he had learned, peace was easily disrupted wherever life roamed. The galaxy simply did not seem big enough to contain the idea of peace, let alone maintain it. It seemed trouble would always follow him, if he did not find it first.

He sighed, rubbing the child's head as he blabbed indistinguishable words, trying to reach a higher portion of the barrel then he could reach. The man adjusted the tot on his lap, allowing him to reach the spot he was aiming for. The child cooed happily, continuing his quest to render the rifle spotless. The man rocked him a few times. They were still a way off from the Razor Crest, already having been a few hours into their trip back to his ship. He was still feeling somewhat restless from the Guild's attempts on the child's life, to say the least. They couldn't afford the chance of being on this planet for much longer, knowing that staying would put the child in danger. More importantly, the people of this planet.

He watched. He noticed. He acknowledged all the tiny details others overlooked. He often felt like it was a curse, that he could discern people's character by their actions and intents, the way they assessed their situations, the way they reacted to and approached conflict, the way they carried themselves. He knew by judgment of character who was deceitful, who sought to destroy, who wore the artificial masks. Few words were needed to describe the masses he approached regularly. It was difficult to have to live a life knowing who would likely betray him the moment he turned his back. The Mandalorian people were the only people to ever have changed his mind about the nature of the universe. But Omera and her people, they were different, just like the Mandalorians had been when he was an orphaned foundling. They did not seek to usurp their authority over any but instead sought to establish it in the midst. They were peacekeepers, and though they did not openly seek to reap destruction, when provoked, they were a force to be reckoned with.

The Mandalorian's heart clenched underneath his Beskar breastplate, an all-to-familiar cold sensation creeping through his chest. It wasn't necessarily unwelcomed, but it was nonetheless uncomfortable. He had grown used to it during his stay in the village. He sighed once more, unaware until present that his free hand had wrapped itself protectively around the child, having drawn it closer to himself. He eased his grip, acknowledging that the tot was still pleasantly distracted, much like him.

Omera. He couldn't get her image out of his mind. He didn't think he could describe what he truly felt for her whenever he considered all she had done for him and the child. She was kind, respectful, considerate. She could read people like an open book. She knew what they were thinking, even if they wore masks to hide their emotions, figuratively or physically. He knew there was pain in her smile, but he understood that she had chosen to move on from her past. She truly wanted the best for everyone, even if it meant sacrificing aspects of her own life to do so. She was selfless, brave, and strong. To say that he respected her was an understatement. There was something more; a feeling, a responsibility that he had to protect her from those who hunted to disrupt the peace that she—and her people—had fought so hard to achieve.

She was unique. He had met many independent women in his travels, some verging on the point of believing no one better suited existed to meet their needs than themselves, —He himself felt that after having gone solo for so long—but Omera was not independent by choice, but more by chance. She was a widow, he acknowledged, raising a child and fending for her village all on her own. She wasn't truly given a choice. She was adaptive, and she was proactive. The role she played in her village inspired others to believe that hope, that good, still existed. She had shown him no less during his stay, and it was no surprise that the attributes they shared and the respect they established had provided a forge for their unique bond.

Though their conversations were often light and non-too-revealing, she was normally the one who asked the questions, seeking to understand him and desiring to aid him not only physically, but emotionally as well. She knew the mask was more than a physical object, and he was much more willing to be transparent with her than anyone else. She had always approached him humbly with a smile, offering whatever aid she could should he need it. She was a great mother, too, and she had shown him a few "care-and-keeping" tips to aid him should the child ever require his attention in an area he was unfamiliar with.

He wasn't the intrusive type, especially when it came to other people's pasts, but there were aspects of Omera that he understood greater than others and could relate to personally. There was a mutual understanding that did not need to be addressed with words. Regardless of how long he had known her, he knew that their feelings were mutual, that their pasts were similar, that their pains left scars that only healed with time.

The vehicle jolted, and his thoughts were interrupted. The drone beeped several times, then seemed to relax. He took the initiative and raised the cooing child into his arm, grabbing as many items as he could carry in the other and walking towards the Razor Crest. He pushed a few buttons on the outside which opened the hatch. He walked up the ramp and sat the items down, then turned to retrieve the next round. The child watched him, ears rising. It cooed softly as it glanced around, eventually being picked up by the man and taken to the cockpit after he had ensured that all the recently loaded items were secured.

"Ready to hit the trail?" The Mandalorian addressed the child softly, whom replied with a soft squeal. The man nodded a few times, then rested into his seat and began to flip switches. As he did, his thoughts once more drifted to the little village in the middle of nowhere.

He'd return someday. Someday when the child was safe from harm's way, when he had sorted through his feelings, when he had realized that there was more to this widow on this backwater planet of Sorgan.

When he realized that he loved her, he'd return.


End file.
